Harry roused to the bright morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. He groaned as he slowly blinked his eyes open. Confusion washed over Harry as he spotted a the small desk near the window. It was cluttered with potion ingredients and books, and a familiar quill lay beside a parchment covered in Snape's distinctive scrawl. Now fully awake, he sat up in alarm, eyes darting around the room in confusion. He wasn't in his dorm room; he was in Snape's private quarters.
Memories of the night before flooded his mind, the panic attack, his magic pushing Snape away, the several potions Snape had to force feed him to get him to calm down. What a scene he had made. He would be lucky if Snape ever even talked to him again, let alone helped him get to Voldemort. He wanted to slap himself. How had he gone and screwed things up this bad?
He stood up slowly, pushing a soft woolen quilt off of him: How had that gotten there? He didn't remember it from last night... Then again, things were pretty hazy for him. And how had he gotten from the floor to the couch? He definitely remembered falling asleep the floor. He shuddered at the idea of Snape tucking him in, he was almost eighteen, not eight. Pushing his racing thoughts away, he padded over to the table, surprised to find breakfast laid out—scrambled eggs and a steaming cup of coffee.
Had Snape... made him breakfast? Maybe he was wrong about Snape being mad at him. He picked up the note next to it, feeling around the table for his glasses before shoving them on his face, surprisingly having no problem deciphering Snape's cursive script. It seemed that not even years of him trying to avoid seeing it on his homework had trained his eyes for it. Despite being able to read the man's handwriting, Harry didn't know what half of the words meant. Damn Severus Snape and his extensive vocabulary!
Dear Mr Potter,
I hope this letter finds you in a state of adequate consciousness and cognitive functioning. As you can see, if you haven't managed to misplace those pitiful contraptions to compensate for your woefully inadequate vision, I have graciously prepared breakfast for you. Rest assured, it was not poisoned, as much as I might have been tempted to poison your insolence.
I urge you, Potter, to drink the coffee and not just scoff down the eggs with the voracity of a starved hippogriff. Consider this a plea, Potter, while I understand that my lectures may not be as exhilarating as your adventures in the realm of heroism, I won't tolerate you drooling on your desk, snoring like a troll in hibernation.
In conclusion, Potter, I trust that you are now suitably fed and can resume your insufferable existence with a modicum of satisfaction. Today, during my lesson, I expect you to purposefully "screw something up" - to employ your own words. This intentional error will provide me with the excuse I require to administer the detention that you will no doubt need to get your friends 'out of your hair' Again, your own words. Which, if they were actually stuck in, would be near impossible to remove, that thing is a dimension of its own. You'd be surprised to find, that a simple comb or brush, wielded with even the slightest modicum of effort, may yield surprising results.
An unfriendly reminder to meet me at the border of the forbidden forest at 2100 exactly. This is your last opportunity to change your mind. I urge you to reflect upon the gravity of the situation, to steel your resolve, and to make peace with the possibility of your demise. Tardiness will not be appreciated. Do not delude yourself into thinking that this encounter will be a mere skirmish, No, Mr. Potter, this is a confrontation with mortality itself. The stakes are higher than you can fathom, and the outcome will shape the course of history. The world outside my quarters awaits, and I suggest you face it with the same misplaced confidence you so often exhibit.
P.s. Don't be late for my lesson and remember to bring your invisibility cloak later.
Yours reluctantly,
S.S
Harry rolled his eyes, the man could be a broadway star with how dramatic he was. Not that Harry would ever tell him that. Harry was parched, so he scarfed down the eggs,(completely disregarding Snape's explicit instruction not to) washing it down with the coffee. To his astonishment, the flavors exploded in his mouth—fluffy and perfectly seasoned. It was undoubtedly the best scrambled eggs he had ever tasted. And the coffee… It was a smooth and perfectly brewed cup, lacking any trace of bitterness. He detected hints of chocolate and a nutty undertone. He could already feel the cloud of fatigue in his mind lifting. Who knew the potions master was such a good cook? He supposed the skills required for potion making could be applied towards cooking but not to this extent! He had always associated Snape with potions and cauldrons, not culinary skills. It seemed you learned something new about the guy every day.
He remembered Snape's warning about not being late and flicked his wand, casting a quick Tempus. 8.53. Uh Oh. He had 7 minutes to get to potions, which Snape was teaching alongside with DADA.(Harry honestly didn't know how the man did it. Did he even sleep? He was starting to doubt that Snape was fully human. Well… he already doubted that from before, but now, even more so.) He threw on his school uniform as fast as he could, quickly doing up the tie, and trying his best to tame his hair, feeling strangely insecure about Snape's comment about how messy it was. Seconds later, he was out the door and on the way to his first lesson.
He knew he should have been brainstorming ideas on how to screw up without making him seem like he was begging for a detention but the truth was, Harry doubted it would be a difficult task for the other man. Finally, he reached the dungeons, just in the nick of time, when an idea hit him. He had already been late 3 times for his class that week! Snape had let Harry off with just warnings, mostly because he was still slightly scarred from the weird laughing attack he had had that day and probably didn't want a repeat of that. Hopefully Snape would take the hint and give him the detention. He checked the time. 9 exactly. Perfect. He sat down, back against the door, waited ten minutes, bored out of his mind, before he stood up again, taking a deep breath. He prepared himself for the best performance he would ever give.
He mussed his hair slightly, and deliberately rumpled his robes to make it look like he had run far to get there. He even started breathing harder so he would seem out of breath. With a little more mental preparation, he pushed open the doors to the classroom, hurrying in. He spotted Snape at the front and quickly makes his way towards him, trying and failing to fake-trip to play things up a little more.
Snape raised his eyebrows in surprise, that same concern in his eyes from last night present. It was gone in a flash, replaced with realization for what Harry was trying to do. Harry could almost feel the exasperation and the man's desire to roll his eyes. Still, Harry was glad that the man had caught on. Now for the hard part.
He upped his voice several octaves, and tried his best to make his tone sound overly apologetic, "'I'm sorry, Professor Snape. I lost track of time, and–"
Snape interrupted him, "Lost track of time, Potter? Again?"
Harry slumped his shoulders and forced his gaze to the ground, hoping he resembled a remorseful, apologetic student. Snape thought he resembled a shriveled up fig.
"Yes, sir. I'll make sure it doesn't happen again."
Snape narrowed his eyes, but at the proximity they were at, Harry could tell it was forced, "You have been late for your potions lesson four times this week, Potter. Four times! Do you think my time is expendable? That my lessons are inconsequential?"
Harry really hadn't prepared a script like Snape seemed to have done. Harry didn't know what to say so he bit his lip, praying that it looked like a bite of shame and not like he was trying to seduce Snape. He didn't think that was enough so he forced himself to think of his friends in hopes that it would make him blush. He could feel his face flushing in anger at the thought of their betrayal and he hoped it made him look somewhat frustrated and ashamed. He hadn't even opened his mouth to protest, but Snape raised a hand to silence him, "No excuses, Potter. You have been given ample opportunities to correct your behavior, but you persist in your disregard for punctuality and respect."
"Man, he's really got this planned out," Harry thought, "Oh wait. That was his cue."
He cleared his throat and made his voice sound hoarse and desperate "I... I'm sorry, Professor Snape. I didn't mean to disrespect you or your class. I'll accept any punishment you deem fit."
"Detention, Potter. Detention is what I deem fit. You will serve it with me tonight. Perhaps the extra time will help you realize the importance of punctuality and the consequences of your actions."
He nodded vigorously, hoping that his performance had been realistic, "Yes, Professor Snape. I'll be there." With that, he scrambled to find a seat, throwing his stuff down and immediately getting to work. His grand performance was over.
Snape watches Harry for a moment, his eyes shining with amusement. Harry watched back, before rolling his eyes when he was sure no one was looking. That only seemed too increase Snape's amusement, the bastard. Harry could have sworn he was a ghost of a smile on his face, only to disappear a second later, when he turned to face the class to yell, "All right, shows over, get back to work you little shits."(is this considered child abuse someone pls tell me) .
The rest of the day went by in a flash, Herbology being a breeze, with Neville as his partner. He had even paired with Draco for DADA, since they were practicing dueling, and he was unsure if he would be able to control himself if he had dueled one of his 'friends.' He kept reminding himself that they were just kids, and he would be a monster to hurt them.
As the clock struck six, Harry quietly mumbled something to his friends about having detention with Snape. Luckily, none of them seemed suspicious, and Harry was glad that his previous performance had paid off.
With a heavy sigh, Harry made his way through the crowded corridors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The evening sky outside the castle was tinged with shades of orange and pink as the sun began its descent. Harry's footsteps echoed softly, the sound almost drowned out by the chatter of students rushing to their common rooms or the Great Hall for dinner. With his Invisibility Cloak draped over his shoulders, Harry slipped out of the castle and made his way towards the forest's edge. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and the distant sound of nocturnal creatures awakening. He pulled the cloak tighter around him, his heart pounding with a mix of excitement and apprehension.
As he stepped into the shadowy realm of the Forbidden Forest, Harry's senses heightened. The rustling leaves and the hushed whispers of the wind seemed to warn him of the forest's secrets. The evening light danced through the dense canopy above, casting fleeting patterns on the forest floor. Harry's footsteps were silent as he navigated through the undergrowth, carefully avoiding thorny brambles and fallen branches.
Suddenly, a pair of ebony eyes appeared from the darkness, reflecting the moon's soft radiance. Harry's heart skipped a beat as he raised his wand, his hand steady despite the adrenaline coursing through his veins. He whispered, "Lumos," and the tip of his wand illuminated the creature before him. Only it wasn't a creature. It was… Snape?
Startled, Harry exclaimed, "Merlin, Snape! Don't sneak up on me like that!"
Snape blinked at him, "You're late."
Without a word, Snape turned on his heel and began walking. Harry took that as a sign to follow, struggling to keep up with Snape's long strides. Curiosity getting the better of him, Harry ventured, "Where are we going?"
"We must apparate at the edge of the forest since the wards surrounding Hogwarts end there," Snape replied, his voice clipped.
"Oh."
"How long were you waiting outside the classroom?"
"What? Oh." Harry's cheeks reddened. He didn't even bother asking him how he knew. The man's middle name was probably mystery.
"You're a terrible actor, Potter, you know that?"
Harry bristled. "No, I'm not! Everyone bought it! I even blushed on command! Do you have any idea how difficult that is? Not that you would understand, you have the complexion of Count Dracula!."
Snape chuckled, a deep, throaty laugh that seemed out of character. It was an unusual sound coming from the usually stern professor, and Harry found himself strangely drawn to it. He couldn't help but let out a smirk of his own.
Harry continued, "Well, at least we can agree on something, Professor. Your paleness does make a statement. Have you ever considered moonlighting as a vampire in your spare time?"
"Ah, Potter, your wit is as sharp as ever. But I assure you, my career options are quite limited. The role of the brooding vampire is already taken."'
"Pity. I'm sure you'd nail the part."
Snape stopped walking and turned to smile at him, it was a ghost of a smile, but a smile nonetheless, "We're here, Potter."
Harry's smile wavered slightly, betraying the undercurrent of sadness that ran through his veins. The weight of the impending danger and the possibility of his own demise hung heavy in the air. Snape, ever perceptive, seemed to sense the turmoil brewing within him. "You can still back out now, Harry," He stated, his voice tinged with a mix of concern and caution. Harry's smile persisted, albeit with a resolute determination shining in his eyes. He shook his head, dismissing the notion. Backing out was not an option. He couldn't bear the thought of resigning himself to a fate predetermined by others. There was still fight left within him, a flickering flame of hope that refused to be extinguished.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting an ethereal glow over the forest, Harry's resolve strengthened. He would face the unknown, the darkness, and the peril that awaited him. The path ahead may be treacherous, and the odds may be stacked against them, but Harry Potter was ready to fight. He would not falter. He would not yield. The journey to confront his destiny had begun, and there was no turning back.
Snape held out his hand in offering, and Harry grabbed it. He tightened his grip on Snape's hand, seeking solace in the connection, drawing strength from the presence of his unlikely companion. Snape's grip was firm and unwavering, his hand serving as an anchor amidst the tempestuous currents of magic. With a whoosh, they were gone.